Were We EVER Ready?!

Death is the date you forget
The promise that time corrects
None can dodge their fate.

Death is the silent sniper
When ready, aim then fire
No one is exempt from this tax collector’s tally.

Death floats in on quiet wing
To ease the final moments’ sting
Into a final peaceful solitude.

Death trails fingers through rough cotton sails
Monitors and machines pump and wail
Roll call sounds through each flatline.

Live by the sword
Die by the gun
Bullets are forever.

For all the posturing and politics
The glories of dynasty
Fade into the sands of time.

No one is left behind
But everything remains, to find
A final separation of man and possession.

A final surprise
In dull empty eyes
Death will literally take your breath away…

As the dive from the beach
Robs you of your final speech
Let the waves comfort you now.

As your shallow husk
Is buried without fuss
Take your grudges with you.

Death makes even religions a liar
The final equalizer
Prince and pauper fall as one.

Chase with desperation the chalice of immortality
Ignore the human fallacy
To waste precious time in futility.

But isn’t Death just a carriage
A taxi you missed today
That may ferry you tomorrow?


Without her

Take me with you, within your mind;
Hold my hand
And tell me the rabbit hole has room for two

The unstable building…

The rattle of warning went unheard.
A warrior’s arrogance,
Seasoned with brute force and directness,
Ceased the hand of mercy.

He cried, weeping at the barrenness,
The null within his hollow arms;
Uncaring in his sorrow that the predator lurked,
He didn’t care, without her, he didn’t care.

What chains can hold a broken spirit?
A life already dead can not be resurrected.
And with what, can a mortal bargain a miracle?
Pure debts unpaid cannot be met with filth.

Yet, the victor gets his cut,
The tax, its due;
The lender what was borrowed,
The dog, its day.

Swallow back the sorrow and decay,
Clench the fist of futility;
And bury that which is precious yet lost,
Swear allegiance to the guardians of death and revenge.

When the eyes of grief behold only anguish,
When the only organ that beats is rage;
After the streams and rivers are choked with
Shattered husks and bodies.

What then? Oh mortal, when your chalice overflows,
And you pick the bones at your trestle;
What then?
When your arms are still shattered, empty.

What solace is conquest?
Can the sword extract the pain?
Does the slaughter of thousands
Erase your blood-slicked agony?